Andre answered the questions; he’s a Gryffindor. (Yay!) Then it was my turn.

I answered the questions sure in my Gryffindor future. I was confident the Hat would see my bravery. Or on the off chance that it didn’t, the Hat was sure to recognize my intelligence and place my in Ravenclaw. Or at the very least identify my ambition and cry out Slytherin.

Our mascot is a badger. Isn’t that a rodent?

Imagine my shock when the great Sorting Hat flashed a yellow and black crest on my monitor and congratulated me on joining HUFFLEPUFF.

I’m Hufflepuff? I may never recover.

Thankfully the awesomeness of the being in the Wizarding World dulled my pain slightly.

We rode a terrifying cart through Gringotts bank vaults. Universal staff took pity on us and let us cut lines twice (we were really short on time and the lines were really long).

I bought more Honeydukes candy than is healthy for anyone. (“Next witch, wizard or muggle in line please.”)

And, I met a Hogwarts student that gave me private magic lessons. (Turns out Andre is gifted at yet another thing that I need help with. Not that I’m bitter. At least I’m not a muggle.)

The goblin (sir) and I had a good chat in the money exchange building. I’m glad Universal decided to hire goblins…it really sells the experience. Jobs for magical creatures! Fair wages! S.P.E.W.!

Knockturn Alley. So creepy pitch black it was hard to take pictures. But on the upside, it was so scary there were very few children around.

OMG they have a real Hogwarts Express. The train actually takes you between Kings Cross and Hogsmead. I’m home.

Loads of unattended baggage. But Andre told me I wasn’t allowed to “adopt” any more pets.

I’m happy to say that I was not the only fully grown adult person who squeed and took pictures of everything I saw.

Writing Exercise:

I never wanted to leave The Wizarding World. But, unlike on the cruise ship (where there were no good places to hide from the TSA search parties) I think I could totally stay in Harry Potter land forever without anyone noticing.

All the staff wear the same student robes that I now own. (I’m not 100 percent sure that makes me staff…but I think I have an argument to make or at least a compelling disguise if found after hours.)

With age comes wisdom, and the ability to lie more convincingly. “No, I don’t think we have met. I’m new.”

Sad movies should have a disclaimer so you don’t start them on an airplane, then get so involved in the story that you forget where you are and start sobbing in public. On the flight over people stopped trying to hide their disapproval of my blubbering, soggy self. I fully recommend The Fault in Our Stars by the way…when you’re alone, with a box of tissue.

But you know what’s even more distressing than crying in public and having people stare and judge? Crying in public and having no one seem to notice or care. Hello, airline staff?

Sure, when I’m watching a movie I don’t really want the attention, but when we’re landing and my eardrums feel like they are about to burst because apparently I’m not over my cold yet? You know, I’d like someone to ask if I’m ok…like maybe the stewardess…so I can ask if ear drums can burst because you have a cold. Not that knowing would actually help, but I like to be prepared.

How bad does your condition have to be before they send a military helicopter to pick you up? They sent three people up. I’m hoping the other two were family members… I’m proud to say that my first thought was “I hope they’re ok” and not “were they in a suite”?

Table Tennis (Classic!)

Bocce Ball
(We have a lawn. If I didn’t already feel like this trip was a frivolous extravagance, the presence of a lawn at sea would have convinced me.)

Day six on the cruise we woke up to the thrumming sound of helicopter blades outside our window.

Since I have nose problems I dashed upstairs and watched what looked like a military helicopter long line three people off the ship. Apparently some time in the night the ship had actually turned around to get us close enough to shore so that the helicopter could reach us for the evacuation. And I thought racing a sailboat was an expensive excursion.

My official title for the day was Grinder. Primary Grinder mind you, not Main Grinder. I was reminded of my position several times. Apparently if the Primary Grinder starts grinding when they shout “Main Grinder Go” it not only puts our ship in danger of losing the race but also of running into random floating things (like other boats). This is bad. But I was enthusiastic and ground like there was no tomorrow on command. This was good…for a while.

Grinding involves leaning over a winch type thing on a pedestal and pulling hard to “grind” the device in a circle which apparently causes the direction of the sail to change. (It was a bit like peddling a bike with your hands.) I say apparently because grinding is a full body, head down experience. “Go, go, go, go, go.”

It was hot, the sea was a beautiful variegated pattern of blue and green and did I mention it was hot?

I’m blaming the heat on the need for a bucket. Apparently, when you’re not used to it, heat and unusual hard work (on the heels of nine days of sloth) are not a good combination.

After the first two legs of the race Andre and I both went green and had to stop grinding. (The real crew took over.) Our new job was staring at the horizon, dumping bottles of water over our heads and concentrating on not throwing up while the rest of the team dragged our nauseated bodies over the finish line to victory. (The crew super appreciated that we didn’t throw up…they actually told us that.) Next time I’m going to volunteer as rail meat.

Yay us.

Writing Exercise:

One of the professional sailing crew that led our victory at sea had moved from an urban life in France to a sailing life in the Caribbean. Sure it sounds idillic, but what if you were like me. “I can do that, burb, maybe not.” Try writing something called “Yo ho ho, the Pirate’s life is not for me.”

NB. Adam, Anna…I take it back. I don’t want to live aboard. I’ll just visit aboard.

This is the product of my on-board class in acrylic painting. The class was only an hour, but they let me take a few supplies back to my room and a few days later this happened. It’s a reproduction of a Van Gogh and I’m super proud, especially considering it’s the first time I’ve tried painting since high school. I think at home I would have had an anxiety attack spending five hours on something as “frivolous” and “selfish” as painting. (I know I have work to do on valuing things I enjoy.)

Today we arrived in the Sargasso Sea. A seaweed laden area of the Atlantic bounded by four ocean currents. We are officially 900 nautical miles to the nearest land (a tiny island I’ve never heard of) and the sea below us is 80,000 feet deep. 80,000 feet. Over 15 miles down. The amount of water is impossible to imagine. Seriously, I’m trying.

The ocean goes so far into the horizon that the line where the sea meets the sky looks painted. I’m starting to understand how the Truman Show could convince Truman that he was outside in the real world. It’s so beautiful here I’m having trouble believing it’s real. I go back and forth between disbelief at the beauty and wonder that early explorers who didn’t know (for sure) there was an end to the water had the bravery to set sail into this.

I’m inspired and deliciously lazy all at the same time. (I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere where I could actually say there is nothing I have to do right now.) I think I’ll go take another nap.

Writing Exercise:

I feel like a cat. I wake up, head over to my food bowl (buffet), then over to a lounge chair for a few hours. Then, digestion complete, I wander back to my room for a nap. I could handle being a cat forever. I thought I’d get bored, but apparently I’ve been short on sleep for…forever, and my body really really wants to catch up.

When I was a kid I used to beg my mother to let me stay up. I had soooo many important things to do as a five year old. I even promised that I’d sleep when I grew up. Sigh. But what if we could, or rather had to. What if the sleep debt we accumulate over time was being tabulated by something and we each had to plan for an enforced coma to make up what we owe. Would there be storage facilities to check ourselves into? Happy writing.